–by Becky WTGH
I’ve been writing so much lately.
I’m sure you’ve all noticed. It’s been perpetual.
My entries have tripled. Each month, exponential.
Kind of, right? Ugh, math is beyond me.
I was good at it at school, but was told to struggle
and be interested in other things. So
I struggled, then I focused on other things.
Like music and poetry. You know,
stupid chick shit. Like my brain
My brain is just stupid chick shit
I fucking hate all of it
I tried to just like,
scrub out my brain. Restart.
I can’t. I tried to restart my body,
I can’t. I tried to restart my life, but it just
lays there, dead. I am restarting, but I am also
revisiting. My brain spurts out the words
and I see the shapes of my thoughts
still somehow, feminine. Always.
What I thought were mountains, ended
Up being valleys. The valleys ended and the rivers
Started flowing. I cry with dry eyes now. I once knew a guy
who could sleep with his eyes open. I think he might’ve been lying, but
I know that I can cry without tears, so why wouldn’t he be able
to sleep without closing his eyes? Who am I to say he
is a liar. We are all lying about some stuff, I guess. That
is certainly what everyone is so afraid of. That is what I am constantly
being accused of. Why would I lie? What do I gain from that. I know
that many withhold. Perceiving the greater good, when fact
is, there is no greater good. There is no bad. There just is.
Everything just is. We are all just here. I have tried to
leave here so many times. Everytime I try to leave
someone smiling yanks me. Peaks and valleys,
You know you’ve arrived, when you
start to head back. I’m not sure
what I’m doing here, but I do
know that I am supposed to be doing
everything fervently. FERVENTLY. What else
is there for me to do here, but to boil. I am pus, I am
broiling. I want to fry my skin and put hot pepper jelly on me.
I am a miserable cunty bitch, I am ungrateful, and I am fucking hungry.
Why can’t I fry my liver and share my creative passions with the world?
Aren’t we all just chasing peaks, stumbling, falling into valleys?
I have failed enough to make a one-woman rainbow valley
My life is everest and I’m frozen, pondering, wondering
if I should get up, and see the peak. I will never get there
I would overthink. I don’t need to travel to Everest
to be frozen in thought, lost in memory.
Trapped in a cave, shivering. My mind
Freezing slowly, dying slower.
I wonder what those climbers think about
when their limbs stop working, and their lashes stick.
It takes a while for them to die, like that. Frozen, icicles,
People-pops, hiking landmarks for future mountaineers.
I guess that is what we all are, regardless. Whether you freeze
on the top of the peak, or at the bottom of the valley. Does it matter?
Does it matter how you die, if all you did was blather on and on
and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on
until you make a poem in the shape of mountainous tits
because you’re a bored lonely pervert, sick and tired
of all this pretentious shit. Why write prose? When
you could craft breasts from words, sloping
down, shaping up. Oooohhh… are they
mountains? Are they tits, like he said?
Yes, I’m trying male pronouns.
I do have penis envy.
It fucking sucks.
But, I daydream
about the mountains